The bells were ringing. Not large, tolling church bells like there are in the movies. These were small, sweet bells that ran on ribbons down the aisle of chairs that were set up on the green grass of the field. They sang their song as they rustled in the soft breeze of the warm summer day.
         The hundred or more white folding chairs sat in once- straight arcs. The arcs were gone now, little more than a faded memory; the people had jostled them around on their way in to sit, scooting and squeezing the chairs into uneven rows. The jostling was done now, of course. The people sat still, waiting for the bride to come down the aisle.
         Abigail was beautiful. Not just beautiful in the way that all brides are, resplendent in their fine white dress, their hair up in intricate curls, but beautiful in the dark brown of her hair and the soft slope of her shoulders.
         Joseph was handsome, of course. He stood tall up on the altar, his brown eyes big and joyful. His suit accented his broad shoulders. His curly black hair was as tamed as it could be.
         The ceremony went by in a blur. There were all of the couple’s friends, Abigail’s crying mother. There were all of the old church women wearing their pastel, flower print dresses and strong, overbearing perfumes, making the couple promise to be safe on their upcoming trip and wishing them long, loving liv
es. Then there was the cake cutting. The knife glided smoothly through the thick, white frosting of the cake.
         Eventually, they got on the plane heading for their honeymoon destination- Rio de Janeiro. It was late, so Abigail and Joseph Richardson slept on the 11 hour ride there.
         The Richardson’s arrived in Rio at eight in the morning. They couldn’t check into their hotel room until six in the afternoon, so they decided to wander the city.
         They stopped for coffee on a crowded city street. The sidewalk was warming up beneath them as the sun shone above. Joseph held Abigail’s hand in his as she ordered her morning coffee from the salesman.
         “Thank you, sir,” Abigail said as she took the cup. She took a sip and smiled.
         “What?” Joseph asked.
         “It’s so good,” Abigail replied in her sweet, quiet voice. “But I can’t decide if it’s extraordinarily good coffee, or if I am just so glad to be where I am, with you.”
         Joseph smiled down at her, “Well, I hope that it can be both.”
         “Maybe,” she answered, blushing as she always did and looking down into her cup.
         They walked around for the rest of the day, basking in the sun. The crowds of cars drove through the streets, purring quietly beside them as they walked through the down the sidewalks and through the colorful shops, laughing and joking.
         They sat and watched the water, the deep blue waves lapping at the white- sand shore.
         From the beach they could see the peninsula of rocks jutting into the water and the statue of Christ the Redeemer perched, arms wide, atop the hill, more of a mountain in the middle of the sprawling city, looking down.
         There were women walking by in bright, flashy, colored dresses, men in khaki shorts and tee- shirts. The crowd was like an ant hill. It was moving and industrious. It was startling in its massive size. So many people that you may never see the same one twice.
         Finally, when it was six, they went back to their hotel. It was several stories tall, one of the beautiful buildings that was decorated on the inside by all beige and gold and palm fronds.
         “You go check in and find the rooms; I’ll get the bags out of the parking lot and meet you there,” Joseph said.
         “All right,” Abigail replied. She was tired from the long day of walking around in her sandals.
         Abigail went in and got her card from the bustling front lobby. She took the elevator up to her room, number 309, on the third floor.
         She slid the key card into the door and heard the soft click of the lock as it accepted the card. She smoothly twisted the knob and opened the door.
         She walked into the hot, muggy room and fumbled for the light switch. She stumbled a bit as she slid her hands across the wall. She finally found it, but as the lights came on, everything went dark.

        
         Joseph trudged up the cement walkway just as the sun was setting over the city. It was seven o’clock at night already. He’d wanted to be back by now, but it had been harder to find the car than he had thought it would be.
         As he stepped through the door, Joseph was knocked to the side by an EMS responder. He and another man were pulling a stretcher through the door.
         At first all Joseph was was startled. Shocked. Frozen.  Then, his eyes started darting in all directions, taking it all in; he started noticing things.
         That dark brown hair, curling and twisting in every direction.
         Those soft hands, still French- tipped and shining from the wedding.
         Those hot pink toe- nails.
         “No one will notice if my toe-nails are pink,” Abigail had said the day before the wedding. “My dress goes all the way to the floor. And no one looks at people’s toes anyways.”
         That is what brought him back. That was his Abigail. Laying on a stretcher.
There was a policeman talking to a short blond woman. Joseph went over to speak with him, breathing rapidly.
“What happened here?” Joseph asked.
“Excuse me?” the officer asked. His eyes crinkled at the sides as he squinted suspiciously at Joseph; he was stocky and tanned from the years of living and working in the sunny city.
“That’s my wife!” Joseph yelled. “What’s wrong with her?”
The old officer squinted at Joseph a little harder for a second longer, but seemed to accept Joseph’s story with a slight sigh. “She was attacked up on the third floor. She has a serious head injury, but we’re certain she will recover. The third floor has been under a lockdown; they’re searching for the assailant now.”
“I found her,” the short little woman piped up. She had a squeaky little voice. It annoyed him, grated on his eardrums. She looked up at him with bright blue eyes and continued at a quick pace. “She was laying on the floor outside of the room, and at first, I thought she was dead, but she was breathing, so I ran down the hall until I bumped into someone, and then I told them to call the authorities, and they didn’t have a cell phone, but then I realized that I did so then I called the police.”
She chattered along. He was paying attention; how couldn’t he be, when his wife had just been attacked and the attacker could potentially be on their merry way? But still, something was bothering him, an itching sensation at the back of his head, trying to scramble its way to the front of his mind.
“Janice?” Joseph exclaimed. The sensation broke free and he remembered her.
He remembered that short, severe hair, though it had been black as night back in high school. He remembered the possessive way she leaned forward, what had for a while seemed like the simple attraction of a silly, teenage girl with a crush on the captain of the football team.
He remembered the way she had started to follow him around, leaving notes in his locker, showing up at his house, eating dinner with his worried mother before he could even get home from practice.
He remembered the obsession and insanity that had led her to drive the four hours to his college every weekend and sit outside his dorm room, waiting for him to come out. The obsession that had led to his eventual restraining order.
“You know her?” the police officer asked. He was right back to squinting, his eyes darting back and forth between Janice and Joseph.
“Of course not,” Janice said. Her squeaky voice quavered; her hands began to shake.
“Why would you attack her Janice?” Joseph yelled. He hadn’t seen this dreadful woman in years. How did she even know where to find him, even know he was being married?
“I never attacked her! I would never attack anyone!” Janice cried out. Then she turned to run.
The police officer jumped to action. He reached out to grab the woman, who tried to dart out of the way. He caught her by the wrist and another officer ran over to help subdue the attacker.
“Why did you attack her Janice? Why would you try to hurt my wife?” Joseph bellowed furiously as they pulled her away.
“You always loved her, Joseph. You never wanted me.”


         Abigail opened her eyes to bright lights. Her head was pounding and she felt battered and bruised, but the sheets she was laying on felt crisp and clean.
         She fluttered her eyes a bit, adjusting to the white room around her. Everything seemed too clean, too neat. Everything was too neat to be her home, too well put together to be a hospital room. And it was too bright. Not just too bright for her sensitive eyes, but too bright for the time of day.
Wait, hadn’t the sun just set?
What had happened to her?
Had there been… someone in her hotel room? Had she just been attacked?
She had. So, where was this too- bright, too- neat room?
         Then there was Joseph. He stood smiling over her bed, looking down with joy. She couldn’t help but to smile, even as she began to remember the vague details of what had happened.
         “Where are we?” she asked. “And who attacked me?”
         “The hospital, dear. It was Janice.”
         “Who is Janice?”
         “The stalker from High School. Remember the one I told you about?”
         “Oh. Yes,” she said as she laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes.
         “It’s okay. They’ve got her. They took her away. This will never happen again. I won’t let it,” Joseph said. He looked down at his beautiful wife. Her eyes were open now, looking into his. “I love you too much to ever let it happen again.”
         “I love you, too.”


         Abigail was eventually transferred from the hospital in Rio to their small hometown. She stayed in the recovery unit of that hospital until she was fully healed, after which she and her husband returned to Rio for a proper honeymoon